


it might be cold outside, but i don't feel it

by bratwiththeglasses



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, barns shenanigans, christmas decorating shenanigans, holiday fluff and banter, minor cdth spoiler, post-trk, subtle sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21845905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratwiththeglasses/pseuds/bratwiththeglasses
Summary: Ronan has shanghaied Adam into helping get the Lynch Christmas decorations out of storage and there are endless boxes to go through, and likely a number of dreamthings within reach. He’s currently peering down into a scuffed plastic tub on the floor, apprehension and uncertainty laced through his fair eyebrows. He gives it a wary, gentle kick with the toe of his boot, the contents making a disgruntled clattering sound.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 7
Kudos: 131
Collections: Pynch Secret Santa 2019





	it might be cold outside, but i don't feel it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [two_of_swords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/two_of_swords/gifts).



> hello! this is my secret santa gift for two_of_swords ! hope you enjoy. 
> 
> special shout out to ohyellowbird bc i would literally never get anything done without her. 
> 
> -cpx

“You mean you don’t have a tree that never dies or something?” Adam’s question is sincere. Ronan has shanghaied him into helping get the Lynch Christmas decorations out of storage and there are endless boxes to go through, and likely a number of dreamthings within reach. He’s currently peering down into a scuffed plastic tub on the floor, apprehension and uncertainty laced through his fair eyebrows. He gives it a wary, gentle kick with the toe of his boot, the contents making a disgruntled clattering sound.

Ronan stops what he’s doing to take an indignant breath and drop the box he’s holding onto the floor next to the others. “I know half of this house is dream shit, Parrish, but even us heathens have standards. We chop down our tree every year.” The way Ronan puffs out his chest when he says the last part makes Adam laugh, a mocking sort of sound.

“Like men?” Adam asks, judgmental and amused.

“Oh, fuck off,” Ronan growls, chucking a pillow from the couch his way.

Adam holds back another laugh and instead surveys the mess of battered boxes that he and Ronan have spent the better part of the morning bringing inside. They’ve been dug out of the attic and the smallest of barns that is typically used as storage for “normal people shit.” Adam had told him that he doubted anything was normal about the Lynch family. Apparently, he’d been mistaken.

Decorating for Christmas seemed aggressively ordinary for someone like Ronan Lynch.

“When you asked me to come over to help with barn chores I thought you meant—” Adam starts, then hesitates. He isn’t sure what he thought Ronan meant actually. Ronan has been going through the farmhouse and surrounding barns to sort out the dream carnage that Niall left behind, but between work and school Adam hasn’t been much help. On the rare occasion he does make it over, he mostly studies and works on homework within a short distance of wherever Ronan is, always close enough to comment, admire, talk shit. Other times, when Ronan can’t be bothered to dream or repair whatever needs to be dreamt or repaired and Adam can’t stand to read another paragraph out of a textbook, they find themselves busy with each other.

Adam shrugs gently, “I don’t think this qualifies as a chore.” Decorating for Christmas feels more like a privilege to someone like Adam Parrish, an event for cheesy family sitcoms and unrealistic holiday films.

Ronan’s eyes meet Adam’s from across the pile of boxes and Adam tries not to look out of place but with Ronan’s careful gaze, Adam feels his shoulders relax. After that first kiss in Ronan’s room over a month ago and the hazy, heated nights that came after, Adam knows that his presence is something so much more than his underprivileged heart had ever dared to dream for. Ronan knows it too, and where Adam hasn’t yet come to terms with what he deserves, Ronan is always eager to show him.

“If I fucking hate it--and I do--then it qualifies,” Ronan answers acidicly, already tearing through tape and cardboard with clawed fingers and teeth. “But I figured I probably should.”

Adam’s eyes rake over Ronan’s pinched expression. It’s easy to read between the lines, though he seriously doubts Ronan’s ability to be subtle. A week ago Adam had been in conversation with Blue about the holiday decorations at 300 Fox Way and had mentioned that the only decorations at the Parrish trailer were lights from a long-past Christmas, broken and forgotten, that hung up year round. That paltry showing was in stark contrast to the photos hanging in dusty, custom frames here at Ronan’s family home. The Lynches through the years, bright-eyed and grinning, standing in front of a huge, colorfully dressed tree.

Adam knows that when Ronan says he feels an obligation to decorate, that he’s not just doing it for Adam’s sake, but also to honor the memories and the happy faces in those photos.

-

“Opal, you’re such a gremlin. Don’t eat th—” Ronan yanks on the tangle of multi-colored lights he’s been fighting with that are now currently locked into his psychopomp’s determined jaw. She grins and makes a show of crunching the big red bulb she’s successfully gnawed off. Ronan tugs again, both of them going back and forth until she finally lets go, then scurries off with a handful of spare bulbs when Ronan nearly stumbles back onto his ass. “She’s a goddamn maniac.”

Adam huffs his sympathy from the sofa where he’s working patiently and meticulously to untangle a second set of lights. Ronan approaches to glare at his handiwork, watching Adam’s long fingers move methodically against the wires. If it was anyone else, Ronan would say something cutting, annoyed, but Adam being better than him at something has never made him feel anything other than pleased. Ronan glances back down to the coiled ball of lights in his own hands. His strategy for untangling the lights is more of a yank and swear method. And eventually, it’s going to fucking work.

“ _You_ made her.” Adam doesn’t look up when he says it, but Ronan spots the way the corners of his mouth curl upward and allows himself a small moment of pride in the hopes that Adam Parrish might actually be enjoying himself.

“Damn right,” Ronan bites in retort. Adam rolls his eyes but it’s fond.

The next half an hour passes by comfortably, decorations slowly taking shape. Trinkets are set on horizontal surfaces, tinsel is snaked around banisters and along shelves. More and more outlets are discovered to need rewiring, but eventually lights go on. Warm white and multicolored. Vintage and new. Ronan fills the amiable silence with an impressive chorus of cursing and indignation, first untangling lights and then dragging a life-size wooden snowman out onto the front porch, until eventually he decides that there are more worthy tasks for his hands.

“Opal probably won’t be back until dinner.” Ronan says around a yawn, reaching his arms back over his head far enough that his shirt hitches up his stomach. It’s mildly disappointing when Adam doesn’t look up, just hums a soft sound of affirmation from across the room where he’s started stringing lights around a newly-painted window frame. Ronan takes note of the imagery, of Adam Parrish, dusty and russet-colored and silhouetted against the backdrop of fresh snow on the lawn.

Ronan knew that asking for Adam’s help with decorating was risky, that it might result in a fight, but his quiet acquiescence and even quieter enjoyment of the tedious tasks feel worth it (and a little bit like Christmases past, when there were five Lynches instead of three.)

“I think we’re done for the night, Parrish,” he says slowly, standing up to stretch some more, twisting his spine. He feels idiotic sometimes, trying to get Adam’s attention, like a mating call gone unanswered.

The room looks nothing like how his mother used to do it, but the awkward twist of garland over the doorway and around the edges of the wall still make him feel tender. It’s the same feeling he’d succumbed to earlier when Adam had helped him nail a flocked wreath to the front door that was irreparably off center. The emotions filling him are unfamiliar and, unable to process them, Ronan transitions his thoughts into something familiar. “I should have known you’d be a nerd about this. Unless you know how to tie that string into a noose, quit it.”

“Why did you ask for help if you’re just going to complain and half-ass everything the entire time?”

Ronan smiles, “You have met me, right?” And Adam looks at him with a critical eye.

“Yeah, stupid question.” He glares in just the right way and Ronan laughs, kicking open another box.

“Time to hang the stockings.”

He knows which one contains the stockings because they were always his favorite part of Christmas and it’d become tradition that Ronan would help his mom tack them to the mantle each year. They are each handmade, Ronan’s with his name stitched to the top in red thread and Matthew’s with basketballs ironed onto the front of it. Declan had thrown out his childhood stocking ages ago in favor of a classic knit one. Niall and Aurora’s were matching, sewn together by Aurora.

Adam sits cross-legged next to the box, holding each stocking gingerly as he withdraws them. He looks up to Ronan in silent question once they’re all out and Ronan has to wrangle his breathing for a second in order for his, “Yeah, let’s put them all up,” to come out evenly.

Once they’re lined up along the brick fireplace, Ronan pulls Adam into his side to take in the view. “Not bad,” Adam comments, his hand winding around Ronan’s waist. His fingers find bare skin, stroking idly over a muscled flank.

Ronan nods sagely. He lifts a finger to point at each stocking in turn, naming them as he goes, “Matthew, Me, Declan, Adam, Opal.”

“Ronan,” Adam breathes, turning to look at him, but before he can say anything sappy, Ronan steps out of their sideways embrace. “Lights, check. Decorations, check. Stockings, check. Now I need to go see about a fucking Christmas tree. You should check the attic for festive sweaters and miscellaneous other snow shit.”

-

“You really are a neanderthal.” Adam sets a large plastic shopping bag down on a chair and takes in the sight before him. Ronan is stark naked, his clothes wet and still dripping as they drape over various bits of furniture near the freshly lit fireplace to dry. Ronan seems to be doing the same, his body splayed out over the sofa in a way that would make Adam blush if it weren’t for the wool blanket he has haphazardly pulled over his bottom half; mostly. Adam flushes. “I can’t believe you didn’t wait for me.” He motions towards his left, curious and maybe a little disappointed about missing out on his chance to see Ronan wielding an actual chainsaw.

In the corner of the family room is a tall, full tree. Adam can’t quite make out the color of it, nor the species but it’s definitely shaped like the traditional Christmas variety. Needles are littered all over the wooden floor and Adam is momentarily mesmerized by the assortment of colors that are reflecting off each one as the fire flickers nearby. As achingly beautiful as it is, Ronan steals his attention easily. He looks put out.

“Ronan?” Adam moves around to the arm of the sofa, leaning against it, locking his eyes on the icy blue that have locked on him in return.

“You got a problem with my tree, Parrish?”

Adam slaps at Ronan’s ankles to make room for him to sit down. He groans as if it’s taking maximum effort to do so and Adam slides down into the cushions, still working hard to ignore the amount of bare flesh within reach. “I thought you had standards.”

Ronan shrugs. “I went out to see what we’d be working with but none of the trees on the property were good enough.”

“Good enough for what?”

Ronan answers with silence and Adam turns away from him in defense, embarrassment. Flattery. The dream tree is still glistening in the corner, loud in a way that would be difficult to look away from if Ronan Lynch wasn’t currently naked beside him.

Adam looks over at Ronan again, eyebrows raised high enough to hide under the shaggy bits of hair that cover his forehead. “What happened?”

“Snowball fight with Opal.” It doesn’t sound like a lie, but it also doesn’t sound like the entire truth either. Adam doesn’t think he has the willpower to argue with a naked Ronan about how withholding information is essentially the same as lying — he’ll save that battle for later.

“Okay,” Adam replies and starts to delayer. He only makes it out of his jacket and flannel before Ronan looks ready to combust.

“So, what’s in the bags?”

“Does it matter right now?”

“How the fuck should I know if you don’t tell me what’s in them. Could be detrimental to what’s about to go down.”

Adam scoffs, working his fingers over the laces of his boots. “And what is it that’s about to go down, Lynch?”

“Me, if you’re lucky,” Ronan grins, waggling his eyebrows. His tone is playful but his gaze is hungry and intense. It’s still new, hearing Ronan talk like this, feeling wanted, desired. Adam doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it but the thrill that shoots through his entire body whenever it happens makes him grateful for it. “It’s about time you chilled out enough to lay down with me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention all afternoon,” Ronan tells him, his eyes on Adam as he draws open the blanket enough to slide in next to Ronan on the couch, dressed down to a white t-shirt, boxers, and his socks.

Ronan’s body is a furnace, his skin warm to the touch and Adam can’t help pressing his face into the column of Ronan’s neck before explaining that, “You’re the one who wanted help with your ‘chores.’ I was just getting things taken care of while you fought with any number of inanimate objects.”

“You’re an inanimate object,” Ronan counters, smoothing a hand underneath the hem of Adam’s shirt and up his spine, molding them more firmly together. Adam loses his breath.

The heat from the fire is warm at Adam’s back and Ronan is warm against his front and his insides burn with a molten liquid of _want_ and _need_. They have more than two hours before Gansey, Blue, and Henry are set to arrive for dinner. He doesn’t want to talk anymore, withdrawing his face from the crook of Ronan’s neck so that Adam can swallow his stupid insult in a kiss, a kiss that lasts through them getting Adam out of his shirt and Ronan shifting so that Adam can lay out on top of him, their legs tangled like their mouths and their hearts.

They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, until Adam’s body is aching for more. A declaration, a confession, sears through his mind, the words so lavish and visceral that he’s certain he’ll choke on them if he so much as utters a sound. He grips his fingers deeper into the tissue of Ronan’s waist, burying his face in the curve of neck where warmth meets sharp jawline. He plays it careful, for now. His lips find Ronan’s heady pulse under the skin of his throat instead.

Ronan grunts in response, his eyes glossy when they flutter down towards Adam’s. Their bodies are simply heat and pressure and Adam’s chest fills with emotions, the embodiment of what he might have once imagined holidays with a loved one would feel like. It makes him ache to realize he doesn’t have to rely on daydreams anymore.

Ronan would never ask, especially something like this, but after today Adam knows exactly what he wants to give Ronan. Not because of Christmas but because he wants to give it, and also, simply because he can.

Adam’s silence must worry Ronan, a few too many heartbeats pounding by between their chests. “Are you okay?” Ronan starts to sit up but Adam easily presses him down with the flat of one sweaty palm, pinning him to the cushions.

“Yeah,” Adam swallows as his speaks, then smiles. Ronan looks uncertain until, _“Yes,”_ comes again and Adam’s voice leaves no room for disbelief. “I want to give you something.” Ronan looks out over their naked bodies, as if Adam might somehow magically procure a wrapped gift out of thin air. His sharp eyebrows reach upward, his mouth curved into a curious frown.

“Spit it out, Parrish.” Ronan’s tone is coy but when Adam merely exhales in response, he softens. Ronan catches on to what Adam means then. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, the edges of his voice wavering as he speaks, as if he’s nervous; the breath that follows is easily mistaken for a plea. Perhaps that’s exactly what it is.

Adam has known Ronan long enough, has kissed him long enough, has explored his bare skin with his hands long enough to recognize when the ice in his eyes has melted into soft gratification. Carnal, unabashed, lust. Love.

They are both soft flesh, limbs entangled, cocks hard. Everything has a pulse.

“I want to,” Adam starts, his chest heaving with desperation to find the correct words — if there is such a thing. He practices a few formations in his mind. Adam has to wonder, is there a proper way to tell someone you want to put their dick in your mouth? To taste them. To make them _feel_ the way your mouth is watering to make them feel. “It’s just. I haven’t...” Adam’s face crumples into frustration. “Why is this so hard?”

“Pretty sure that’s the point.” As if to make his lame joke abundantly clear, Adam feels Ronan’s dick flex where it lays pressed between his own and the meat of his thigh. Ronan pumps his hips upward, making them both gasp, to prove his point.

Ronan chuckles, shitty and wry, and Adam flushes, fond and annoyed in equal measure. “I’m being serious.”

“Then stop being a loser and _seriously_ tell me what you want,” Ronan fires back so quickly, his response locked and loaded before Adam finishes his sentence. Adam feels his knees lock when Ronan shifts suddenly and flips them over. His sharp teeth are biting into Adam’s neck as their hips and legs realign themselves. “I can hear you overthinking right now. It’s a boner-killer.”

And Ronan says he doesn’t lie… His cock is practically painful where it presses against Adam’s hip bone, pinching his skin in an uncomfortable way. He’s no better off, either.

“Are you seriously insulting the guy who wants to —”

“Wants to what, Parrish.”

Adam fumbles quickly through a few of the traditional options: _Wants to suck your dick. Wants to give you head. Wants to suck you off._ Instead, horrifyingly, he says, “blow you.”

Jesus Christ, Adam thinks.

“Jesus Christ,” Ronan says.

-

Ronan falls asleep and wakes up first, both he and Adam slotted together on the long sofa, naked underneath the heavy wool blanket. The fire has died down and all of the parts of him not covered by the blanket are cold. Unfortunately, there’s no getting up without disturbing Adam asleep on his shoulder, a sizeable puddle of drool slicking his bare skin.

It’s fine. Ronan is content to lie there while Adam snores, playing a never ending loop of everything they just did to each other’s bodies, except for the looming arrival of Gansey and company. Ronan weighs out the risk, what would happen if they did stay there. He wouldn’t care about being found in such a position with Adam, but it’s too soon to say if Adam feels the same. He focuses his attention elsewhere. Luckily, Ronan did not wake up from his post-coital nap empty-handed. Reaching above his head, he retrieves a watch from the sofa’s armrest.

Elegant and minimal, the watch he dreamt is something he’d thought about during waking life more than once recently. The future for Ronan and Adam was unknown. They were still figuring out this new dynamic of being together and Ronan was no longer attending Aglionby and next year, Adam would be leaving for college. College could mean here in-state or on the other side of the world; Ronan didn’t know. What he did know was that Adam was smart enough and ambitious enough to go anywhere he wanted, and that Ronan himself would be loathe to leave the Barns now that they’d finally been reunited.

So this watch, Adam’s Christmas present, was created to reflect whatever timezone Ronan was currently in. Right now, it reads 5:49 P.M.

Jesus Christ. If Gansey’s on time, they’ll have company in eleven minutes. Stuffing the watch down the crack of the sofa, Ronan carefully shakes Adam by the shoulder. “Adam, wake up. You’re naked and our friends and Henry are almost here.”

Adam jerks away from Ronan’s chest, hair pushed up in one direction like he’s been licked by a cow. “Whuu--.”

Ronan is up on his feet in no time, hurtling himself over Adam while he inconspicuously tries to wipe the drool from his shoulder. “Get dressed, Parrish. I doubt everyone is as much of a fan of your dick as I am.”

Adam doesn’t even have time give the smart ass response Ronan knows he has ready because there’s a knock on the door, followed by familiar voices. Ronan grins, wicked and still very naked.

“Oh shit.” They scramble, falling over each other to get into whatever clothes are available.

“I can’t find my shirt,” Adam panics. Ronan rips open one of the bags Adam had brought in earlier. It’s filled with the horrific holiday sweaters, another Lynch Christmas collection, and tosses over the first one that he can find. Gansey laughs down the hallway, followed by Blue and Henry’s sighs, Opal's distinct hooves stomping along.

“Ronan,” Adam pleads, holding out his arms. The sweater, a size too small, makes the sleeves bunch up at his forearms and rides up his tanned, speckled stomach. The sweater is an obnoxious green and decorated with deer and an absurdly obese Santa.

Ronan beams savagely. “Merry Christmas. Hello Gansey.”


End file.
